How To Train Your Sorcerer
by Andaru94
Summary: When a young boy finds himself in the dangerous land of Vikings and dragons, he must learn to adjust to this new world. However, a powerful sorcerer with a dark past has no intention of leaving him be, so with the help of some new friends, the boy must find a way to stop him before it is too late.


He pushed his way through the thick underbrush of the forest, his eyes struggling to see through the darkness. Streams of light from the full moon overhead peered through the branches above him, but it was still so dark that he may as well have run with his eyes closed. Every now and then he would trip over something and crash painfully to the forest floor, happening so often that he now mentally prepared himself for it without realizing. But every time he did, he would get right back up, shake it off, and continue running.

He had run for what felt like hours, as his body didn't hesitate to remind him. His legs burned, his muscles ached, and a familiar stitch on his left side had returned with a vengeance. Still, like the occasional face plant on the unforgiving ground, he had grown used to it. Just like the chill of the wind that stung his face, or the thin tree branches that he ran into, which left red marks all across his cheeks.

Suddenly, after forcing his way through a particularly thick patch of brush, he found himself in a clearing. The moon illuminated the entire space, showing a much different picture than the mess of tree silhouettes rushing by when he had run through the darkness. For a moment, he stood there, wondering if he should keep going or stop and rest for the night. The air was cool, the ground was soft, and there was a soft breeze making its way through the forest.

Yes, this was where he would rest. And with that thought, he collapsed to the ground, spreading out on the cool grass. His whole body quickly filled with conflicting feelings of pain and relief. Pain from what felt like every muscle in his body burning with exhaustion, and relief from the fact that he was no longer forcing them to keep moving. The sound of his own heavy panting filled his ears, his chest burning from the feeling of the fresh cold air making its way though his lungs. Sweat poured down from everywhere it could, the unpleasant smell of his unwashed, tired body entering his nostrils. His clothes clung to his body, damp with sweat, with dark patches of dirt and bits of greenery hanging off of them.

And yet, for the next few moments that he laid there, he couldn't help but feel better than he had been in a while.

With a grunt, he flipped himself over to his back, looking up into the night sky. It was cloudy, but just slightly, so the moon was still visible. It's light illuminated the entire clearing, a far cry from the black that was the interior of the forest.

He closed his eyes. It was quiet, the only sound being the gentle rustling of leaves as the wind passed through them. He turned his face towards the wind, liking the feeling of it blowing across his forehead. It almost felt like a hand was gently caressing it. It reminded him of when Fayre would...

He stopped. Quickly, he reached down into his dirty and tattered coat, a look of fear appearing on his face when he realizing there was nothing in it. He sat upright, patting himself down, his panic increasing with every second that went by. After hurriedly checking and double-checking, he stood up and began examining the ground.

Barely a minute had passed before he out a gasp at the sight of it. A small parcel wrapped in a brown, furry material, being held to it by a white, ragged piece of string. It must have slipped out of his coat when he had thrown himself on the grass. Looking into his coat, he saw that one of the pockets was barely hanging by a few stitches; he would have to fix that later.

He walked over to the parcel and stood over it, suspicion clear on his expression. Slowly, he bent down, hand outstretched to pick it up. He paused for a moment, his hand hovering just over the parcel. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the furry exterior and lifted it off the ground. He let out a sigh, and brought a hand up to wipe the sweat off his brow.

As soon as his sleeve touched his head, a bitter and metallic smell suddenly hit his nostrils. Surprised, he brought his arm down to eye level. A dark red patch stained his entire left sleeve, a wet line running down the center of it. Along with that, a painful stinging sensation was now affecting his arm. He rolled his sleeve up, revealing a deep cut that ran down from his wrist to just below his shoulder, blood seeping out from it.

"Not again." he groaned, pulling his sleeve back over the wound and pressing down on it, tying to stop the bleeding. He walked over to a large tree towards the edge of the clearing, sitting down against the base of the trunk. He set the parcel cautiously on his lap, and then, after taking another breath, he rolled his sleeve back up.

Blood was everywhere. By the light of the moon, he could see that it was not just his sleeve and arm discolored from the wound. The entire left side of his weathered brown coat was almost crimson from the amount of dried blood on it. His belt, normally a beige color, was now half pink, with some blood staining the buckle. His dark blue pants looked like they had escaped the worst of it; either that or the blood had dried and was too now dark to see. Even his black boots had a dark red tint to them.

Suddenly, a feeling of dizziness overcame him, and he almost fell over by the strength of it. Quickly, he leaned back against the trunk and began to take deep breaths, suddenly realizing just how dry his mouth was. Being exhausted, thirsty, and injured wasn't a good condition for him, and considering how much blood he had lost; he needed to do something…quick.

But what could he do? He was alone in the middle of nowhere, with no supplies, and with no one else around to help him. Of course, that had been the case for a while now, but it was rare that he found himself feeling so helpless. Lost, alone, and slowly dying. He didn't want to die…or did he? For what was the point of going on anyway? Even if he did manage to find a way out of this, what was it all for?

Then it hit him. He did have a way out of this…and it sitting right in front of him, on his lap.

He looked down at the parcel, his look of desperation slowly becoming one of nervousness. An internal conflict was happening within him as he thought about whether he should use it or not. Unfortunately, or maybe not so, trying to think clearly while light-headed was not the easiest thing to do. He looked down at his arm again, finding it hard to focus his eyes on the blood flowing out of it.

If he was going to use it, it was now or never.

He grabbed the parcel, took another breath, more for his anxiety than his body, and carefully untied the strings that bound the leather. He put them aside and began slowly unwrapping the leather. However, a quick jolt of pain ran down his arm, which caused him to speed up the process. Finally, he removed the leather, and looked at what it had contained.

A dark green cover adorned its face, along with an orb-like protrusion filled with white fog. Its spine had black ridges, and as he turned the book every which way, a glimpse of a dark blue cover on the back and a similar white fog filled orb met his eyes. In between the differently colored covers sat rows of grainy yellow parchment.

It was a book.

A terrified expression ran across his features and his whole body quivered with barely contained panic. Clearing his throat, which caused a twinge of pain in his dry mouth, he spoke.

"I need help." he said, his eyes staring directly at the book.

Nothing happened. He started to squint, as it was getting harder to focus.

"I know I usually don't ask for your help, but right now...I-I really need it." he said, desperation beginning to enter his voice.

Nothing happened. He felt a jolt of pain run up his arm, but it felt numb, like his body was refusing to acknowledge it.

"I know you can hear me, so...look I'm sorry!" he almost yelled, his face barely an inch from the book's cover.

Nothing happened. Tears began to well up in his eyes, his desperation reaching its peak. Overhead, a cloud moved in front of the moon, blocking the only source of light in the forest.

"PLEASE!" he cried, slumping back against the tree, his body getting weaker with every breath he took. "I…I never wanted to…I don't wanna…"

He clutched the book to his chest, closing his eyes as pain and exhaustion began to overtake him. Tears ran down from his now bloodshot eyes as he leaned forward until his forehead was resting on the book.

"Fayre…" he whispered. "…help me." Then he passed out and knew no more.

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**Reviews are welcome and appreciated.**


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